Colour My World
by SohoNora
Summary: Mort Rainey's secret had been found out, and he has been sent to a mental institution. No Doritos. No Mountain Dew. And you can bet Mort isn't all that pleased about it. But things start looking up when a new girl is admitted....
1. Chapter 1: Struggling for Crayons

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Mort (sadly) or any other characters from the movie _Secret Window._ However, all characters in the hospital (besides Mort), are mine.  
Cheers!

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**C****hapter One**: Struggling for Crayons

"Mr. Rainey?"

Mort mentality rolled his eyes at the voice. Janice, nurse de mort (irocnicly). She was possibly he most kind bitch he had ever met. And of course, she was assigned to getting his sorry ass up.

"Mr. Rainey, come on dear, time to get up."

"Five minutes." Mort said, feeling like he was a small child bartering with his mother not to get up for school. He didn't see why he had to get up anyway. It didn't make a difference.

"No dear, up now." Janice said, transforming into the Nazi nurse. Mort weighted his options carefully.

"How about I get up if I can have some crayons?' Mort asked. Pens and pencils were out of the question, as they were too easy to stab one's self with, but crayons were ok, as the colored wax couldn't do much permanent damage. He needed to write something.

"Will you contain yourself?" Janice asked. Mort smiled into his pillow. In other words, would he not write 'fuck' every other word.

"Sure." Mort mumbled.

"Alright, get up." she demanded. Mort slowly pulled his face out of the pillow and looked around his room. It was as he had left it the night before, nothing had changed. It was a small white pained room, with a small white (now messy) bed, nice bullet proof glass windows and blanc tiled floor. Mort felt off in such a white room, so he had hung up a small drawing he had done in crayon of Tashmore lake. It was crude and ugly, as Mort had no talent in the art department, but at least it added a little personality to his small blanc prison.

Mort got up, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stayed in his pajamas; grey baggy sweat pants and a dark blue t-shirt, pulling his ratty red robe around him. He was all about fucking the conformity here, even if all he could fuck was not getting dressed. Anything counted.

"Slippers." Janice commanded like the drill Sargent she so was. Mort rolled his eyes and slipped his feet into the white slipper everyone wore around the hospital. Janice nodded as he did so, as if she was glad he wasn't putting up a fight today. Janice was a plump woman with tangerine curly hair and a thick Atalanta drawl. Mort often wondered what she wore in real life, if anything. She was of course dressed like all the nurses there, in peach scrubs. But it was too bad it wasn't a normal hospital, or Mort could have signed himself out.

Mort Rainey had been at Blanchard Institution for some three months now, and was used to the order of operations here. He had been sent via his old friend, Michael Barrie, a fellow author, whom he had (with a little help from some Tequila) confessed the entire episode of Amy and Ted too, including how he had killed and buried them. He had thought Barrie would keep his secret, as Mort had kept the one about Barrie stealing $4,000 from his ex-wife, and spent it one coke, not the soft drink either. But mike had sent him "for his own good", or so he said. _Fuck him_, Mort thought as Janice escorted him down the long white hallway toward t he cafeteria. He had been here so long he didnt fight it. He just rolled with the punches.

Mort had been clear of Shooter for weeks now. He suspected his worse half had gotten bored and just left. Which was rather disappointing in a way, since at least that would have been nice to talk to someone, even if it was only his other personality.

"You feelin' alright today darlin'?" Janice asked, like she did every morning.

"I want some Doritos and I'm horny as hell, but otherwise I'm just peachy." Mort said darkly, which caused Janice to laugh. He didn't mean it to be funny, as he had been totally serious. He needed to get laid, eat as much junk food as humanly possible and drink a bottle (or two) of Jack Daniel's. Then he'd be good to go.

"Well I'll see you later dear. Here." Janice said, and handed him a box of crayons and a notepad from the pocket of her scrubs. Mort grinned like a six year old, and resisted the urge to hug her. He'd waited weeks for a writing utensil, and now he had some. And multicolored, too.

"Go eat honey, it'll do you good" the Nazi nurse/Glenda the Good Witch nurse said, and left him at the door. The cafeteria was a large room (white, given), with about 50 round wooden tables with chairs, and a large buffet style kitchen at the front. They people who worked at the Institution put little plastic vases with fake flowers on the tables, to make the eating experience more enjoyable, or so Mort that gathered. He found this amusing. The people here were crazy, they couldn't tell the difference between a flower and a elephant.

Putting his precious crayons in the pocket of his robe along with the paper, Mort grabbed a tray and headed toward the line. He grabbed some eggs, pancakes and sausage out of the metal heating containers. He was allowed to serve himself now. Evidently, the social workers figured he could serve himself at 41 years of age. Mort mentally thanked them for that with utter sarcasm as he filled a glass with tart grapefruit juice.

Mort turned back to the table he usually occupied in the back of the large room, but found someone was already sitting there. This surprised him. He had never seen the person who sat there before, so he reasoned they must have been new. It was a girl, maybe in her mid 20's. She was very pretty, Mort noticed. She had peach skin that looked soft, nice. Her node was straight and her lips full and pink. Her hair was straight, and a dark reddish brown, like henna in a bottle before its painted on the Hindu bride's hands, falling to the middle of her back, with sweeping bangs across her forehead. He face was round, but not fat. She was pretty in a classic sort of way. She didn't look crazy. Her hair and face were clean, taken care of. She was wearing a pair of expensive fitting looking jeans and a navy zip up sweatshirt, but he knew she was a patient by the white slippers on her feet. She was eating a eggs and a bagel, reading a heavy novel, or so it seemed. Mort couldnt help it. He was curious. And thus, carefully holding his heavy tray in one hand, he approached the table that was formerly his.


	2. Chapter 2: New and Beautiful Faces

**Chapter Two**: New and Beautiful Faces

Mort reached the table, tentatively. If she was crazy, she would possibly yell at him, "rape" or something, and he'd get his crayons revoked, something he couldn't bare. He mentally prepared himself for a scream, and asked carefully

"Are you new here?"

The girl looked up, and Mort saw her eyes were large and dark black/blue, framed by thick black lashes. She looked at him a little worriedly, obviously concerned that she was in a place where everyone, well, _nearly_, was absolutely insane..

"Yes." she answered slowly. She was making sure he wasn't going to go psychotic on her ass and stab her with his fork. And with good reason. Mort had seen people here do just that.

"You don't look crazy." Mort told her. That made the girl smile. She had a pretty smile. That summed her up mostly. Pretty.

"I'm not." she said. Mort smiled a little. Like he hadn't heard that before. Or said it.

"Oh yeah? Then why are you here?" he asked. The girl didn't look offended, but kept her pretty smile. She gestured to the seat in front of her.

"Want to sit down?" she asked. She had a nice voice, kind of rich and smooth. Mort nodded, pulled out the chair and sat down, opposite the girl. She sized him up with her eyes, something Mort was used too, as he had done the exact same thing. Then, to his surprise, she extended a hand to him.

"Blue Callahan." she said. Mort tried to hide his surprise at the friendliness, and took her hand, which was incredibly warm. It was an odd name, but Mort said nothing about it.

"Mort Rainey"

She let go of his hand, and sat back in her seat, obviously watching him.

"You had a question?" she asked. Mort nodded carefully..

"Why are you here?" he asked. He had bets on her being bi-polar, although he decided not to play the guessing game with her.

"Oh. I'm here creatively. I'm going to be in the show about the human condition, so I have to get some inspiration "

Mort had absolutely no idea how to respond to that. She wasn't crazy, she was an artist. One in the same, some would say. He nodded, trying to wrap his mind around it, and took a sip of coffee.

"So, what kind of show?" he asked.

"An art show. I'm a painter. It's this big thing at the Museum of Modern Art. Suffering, and all that. They let you pick a topic, and do a painting on it. Then, next year, I guess, they'll show it." she explained. Mort was impressed., but his mouth was now full of eggs, so he just nodded.

Blue regarded him for a second, and then asked the Number 1 Question:

"So, why are _you_ here?"

She didn't ask like she was scared, which Mort liked. More like she was asking what his favorite band was, or what was his preferred flavor of ice cream. Mort momentarily considered telling her about Amy and Ted, but realized that it wasn't such a good idea. It wasn't safe too so he just shrugged. He decided to tell her only his condition (or what his doctor had told him) to be safe. Safety was defiantly first.

"I had another personality" Mort said slowly. Blue raised her eyebrows and took a bite of her bagel, and licked some cream cheese off her lips. Mort twisted his hands in his lap at the sight of the very sexual display, innocent on her part, but which wasn't left unnoticed by him. How long since he'd gotten laid? Too _fucking_ long, that was how.

"And it's gone now?" Blue asked. Mort looked up to see if she was making fun of him, but she was completely earnest. He nodded.

"Yeah. It's gone"

"Oh. Well, that's good right?"

Mort shrugged, even though honestly, it was very, _very_ good.

They talked like that for a while. Mort told her about his writing, (which she had never read, but heartily promised to), how much he depended on the crayons, and revealed a little about his marriage (how Amy had cheated, and they had gotten divorced). When Blue asked where Amy was, he shrugged and said "With Ted". Which was honestly true. Just hot the whole truth.

However, what was far more interesting was what Mort learned about Blue. She was 30 (although she didn't look it) and lived in New York. (City, not state) with her French bulldog Henri, and was an Art History major. She was also divorced, from lead singer of the alternative band Kill Polo, which Mort had on his iPod. When he asked her about it she simply said "He was an asshole." and that was the end of that. Mort found her absolutely wonderful. He hadn't had a conversation like this, with an actual normal person that wasn't his therapist, in ages. He found he wanted to know even more about her, but decided to hold off until later. Maybe tomorrow. They had just gotten into a debate on coffee (Starbucks, or not to Starbucks) when the white overhead speaker crackled, and a nurse named Myrna's voice rasped

"All members of group E report to the board room .All members of group E report to the board room. Y'all have a great day now."

Mort rolled his eyes, and sighed deeply.

"That's me. We have our group therapy." He found he felt ok with saying that to her, like he didn't have to be ashamed of it. Blue nodded.

"You better go. They might take away your crayons." she said with a almost-serious face. Mort grinned, and got up from the table, taking his tray with him.

"Well, we can't have that." he paused. "Will you be here for lunch?"

It was a big step for Mort. A huge fucking big step. What if she said "Ah, no, sorry, I don't do psychopathic killers with dual personalities, one of a drawling hick, thanks anyway."? He might totally loose it, and Janice would take away his crayons before he even wrote a word. But instead of Mort's insecure fears being confirmed, Blue have him a smile and nodded.

"Definitely"

He stood there for half a second, waiting to wake up. But he didn't.

"Oh, and bring one of your books with you." she said as he started to walk away. He nodded, and matched her smile with his own, before dumping his tray and walking out of the cafeteria, feeling better than he had been in months.

* * *

The group was somber. It was about patients relationships, marriage, and so forth. A group full of tears and sobs, and much encouraging words by the therapist, Dr. Chang. Yet one man in the room didn't cry, didn't get upset. No one, patient or doctor could understand why Mort Rainy, usually the most hostile person there had nothing angry to say. Not that he was happy, or rejoicing (Dr. Chang new Mort was a cynical man, and it would take a while for him to get fully confident in himself again) He was docile as a lamb, none of the usual curses or bursts of anger, even when Dr. Chang asked about when he had found his wife in bed with another man. Rainy had replied

"It's in the past, Dr. Chang. Lets not talk about it anymore."

However, the group, ( especially one particular member who had been watching Mort lustily since he'd gotten the Blanchard), were even more puzzled when Dr. Chang asked Rainy what his hopes and dreams for the future was, and Rainy simply replied

"Lunch."

**Chapter Two**: New and Beautiful Faces


End file.
